


Poison and Wine

by monarchofnewyork (orphan_account)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/monarchofnewyork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras gets a drunk phone call from Grantaire</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poison and Wine

**Author's Note:**

> This is not beta'd.  
> I started writing this between chapters at another e/R fanfiction. I actually believe it's one of my best fanfictions, please let me know what you think.  
> I hope you'll like it.
> 
> Here's my tumblr in case you want to contact me or something: http://enjlrsass.tumblr.com/

 Grantaire pressed the phone’s dial button, getting it right at the fifth try.

 «Yes?» a voice said, as sweet as tea with a spoon of honey. At least, that was as it sounded to him.

 “’Jolras?” he asked, hoping that he’d finally got the number right.

 «What is it?»

 “Nothin’” he swallowed the ‘g’ without meaning. Like it always happened. “I just thought of calling you. Please don’t get annoyed.”

 «Why should I?»

 “Most people get annoyed when s’meone calls them while they’re drunk.”

 «I’m not. You’re the only person who calls me while drunk, and I’m used to that.»

 He smiled, “What’cha doing?”

 «Nothing, really. You?»

 “I’m at a party.”

 «Doesn’t sound like it.»

 “I’m outside. You wanna come here? I’m bored, and no one wants to hang out with me.”

 «I have to finish an essay, sorry.»

 “Oh. Can’t you finish that later?”

 «It’s to due tomorrow» Grantaire heard a point of annoyance in Enjolras’ voice.

 “Oh. All right” he said, trying his best to hide the sudden sorrow he felt.

 «Fine. I’ll go. Where is it?»

 “Courf’s” he replied, smiling widely.

 «And no one will hang out with you? That’s weird.»

 “I know… But Courfeyrac’s too busy gettin’ in Prouvaire’s pants.”

 He heard the other snicker and smiled, «Did he?»

 “I think so. I’m not a cockblock, ‘Jolras. I ain’t gonna check his bedroom, seeing if they’re fucking. That’d be weird.”

 «Anyway, I’m in my car, I’ll call you when I’m there.»

 “’Kay” Grantaire heard him hang up, and took his mobile phone in hand. Then he slipped it in his left pocket and took a pack of cigarettes from the right one.  He took one out and lighted it up, saving the rest in the jacket’s inside pocket.

 He blew smoke into the winter night, which crossed the snow flakes. He sighed, and inhaled a bit more sharply, adjusting his knit beret.

 ‘Stand up and deliver, your wildest fantasy, do what the fuck you want to, there’s no one to ap-’

 “Yeah?”

 «I can’t find you.»

 “I’m outside, in the porch” he said turning around. He smiled at the sight of Enjolras awkwardly standing in the crowd. Grantaire waited for him to walk out of the living room to the porch.

 “Okay, here I am” he noticed the cigarette between Grantaire’s index and middle fingers, “Really? You’re _that_ kind of drunkard? That’s a bit cliché, isn’t it?”

 He looked down, and shrugged, “I guess”, he let out a heavy sigh, “But, you know, one hand for the wine, another for the cigarette.”

 Enjolras smiled a bit, and joined him, leaning on the porch rail, “So, did you check them?”

 “No!”, he replied, laughing, “It would be weird.”

 “What if we both go?”

 “What, really?”

 “If you want to…”

 “Let me see, checking if your best friend is fucking cute poet guy… I don’t think so.”

 “I’m hungry.”

 Grantaire looked at him, “I just told you a fucking joke, and all you say is ‘I’m hungry’? Really?”

 “What? I am!”

 “There’s nachos back there.”

 “What? Really?!” Enjolras exclaimed, turning around.

 “Yeah…”

 He looked at Grantaire by the corner of his eye, and saw he was… Sad. He’d never seen him sad, “Is everything all right?”

 “Not really.”

 “Why? What happened?”

 Grantaire sighed, and shrugged, turning his gaze to the snowflakes that were falling on top of the porch rail, “I don’t know.”

 “C’mon. You can tell me”, Enjolras said, adjusting himself, so that his elbow was touching Grantaire’s.

 “I just- Sometimes, I feel like… Like I’m not doing anything here. Like everyone is special but me.”

 “Give me an example.”

 “You. You’re passionate, and you have the capability of thinking that the world will be a better place tomorrow. You also have great ideas and-”

 “Grantaire, look at me.”

 “What?” he replied, looking at Enjolras.

 “You’re special. _Really_ special. I know a lot of people who would _kill_ just to have your… ‘specialty’.”

 “’Specialty’?”

 “Shut up. Anyway, let me tell you why you’re special. First, you are a _spectacular_ painter. Second, your music skills are fucking huge. Third, you’re a really good person –once I saw you giving a homeless couple all the bread you had-. Fourth, your hair is fucking awesome, because it’s really messy and yet it looks really good-”

 “Hum, I don’t think-“

 “ _Fifth_ , your eyes are damn pretty, like looking into an ocean of blue-ness. Sixth-”

 “That’s not even my personality. That’s my appearance.”

 “Right. Sorry.”

 “You didn’t let me finish, by the way. It’s not just… My ‘specialty’, as you said. It’s also… How do I put it?... You know… That feeling when you love someone but that person doesn’t love you back…”

 “Unrequited love?”

 Grantaire nodded slowly, and let out a bitter laugh, “I love him and people told me he loves me as well, but… I don’t feel like he does”, he shrugged, “he likes me, but he doesn’t love me. I’m happy he likes me, very happy. But I want him to love me. I want him to hug me and tell me how much he loves me every day, and I want him to making me feel like I’m loved”, he inhaled sharply as he felt his eyes tear up, and let out another bitter laugh, looking to his hands, “but well, you can’t have everything, can you?”

 “Grantaire, I’m sorry that person doesn’t love you. I really am, but-“

 “’That person’? You really don’t know who I’m talking about?” he said, turning his head to the side to face Enjolras.

 “I-“

 “It’s you, you idiot.”

 “You- What?”

 “Yeah. I still can’t believe you really didn’t know.”

 “Look, I’m sorry but-“

 “You don’t love me back, I know.”

 “You didn’t let me finish, by the way” he said, quoting Grantaire, “I was saying, I’m sorry but you’re wrong.”

 “I’m sorry, what?”

 “ _You’re wrong_ ” Enjolras repeated, “I like you, you were right about that, _but_ I do love you. It’s just difficult to know, or _realize_ that, because, well, I never actually felt like that for anyone else. … At first, I didn’t know what it was. At all. But, then I started realizing I did love you.”

 “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 “Because I couldn’t. I would lose my courage every time I tried. I tried in your birthday; you were talking with Joly and Bossuet, I said to Bahorel to get them away so I could talk to you, and he did. But when I looked at you smiling at me, I lost the guts. Like if it was drained out of my body. I know it sounds weird, and a bit stupid, but that’s what happened. I also tried that time in Halloween, but you were too busy flirting with a girl. It hurt a bit-“

 “Sorry. I didn’t-“

 “It’s fine. I mean she _was_ pretty.”

 Grantaire stretched his hand a bit, and held Enjolras’, “Yeah, but not as pretty as you are, anyway.”

 He smiled, held Grantaire’s hand in return and shifted to the side so that the only thing separating them would be their hands, clasped tightly.


End file.
